


Chocolate Boy

by nafnaf



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Begging, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Praise Kink, akira is too nice for his own good, copious amounts of chocolate, goro contradicts himself 24/7, spoilers past fourth palace, this is wordy im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-11-28 21:30:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11426562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nafnaf/pseuds/nafnaf
Summary: Goro's worst headaches are ironically his best memories, and Akira Kurusu is to blame.





	Chocolate Boy

**Author's Note:**

> i am incapable of writing anything other than angst, it seems
> 
> this started as me self-projecting onto goro... again... and thus the headcanon that goro gets a lot of migraines/gets dizzy easily was born. 
> 
> yes, there are foods that make you vulnerable to headaches. sweet things especially make me nauseated and that sucks because GOD I LOVE SWEETS but eh sometimes you must suffer to get the good things in life right? ;)
> 
> i didn't mean for this to be so angsty ahdkfnslf it was just gonna be shameless flirting but anyway
> 
> enjoy and please make sure to kudos/comment!

A block of chocolate is all it takes for his carefully-crafted routine to rumple its folds. Akira offers it with nonchalance, a mere, “Want some chocolate with that?” and Goro hesitates a second too long. Akira smirks, a fleeting ghost of a thing, and lays it beside Goro’s coffee. “It was a gift to me from a friend—thought I could share it with you, if you’d like.”

Goro pauses, remembering that chocolate makes him dizzy. He almost tells Akira, wanting to end their conversation, but like an idiot, he says “yes” instead, and Akira beams with pleasure. Goro, meanwhile, is screaming on the inside.

_You don’t even like chocolate, so why the hell did you say yes?_

He huffs and dismisses it. Under Akira’s scrutiny, Goro has no choice but to insert the treat in his mouth, chewing cautiously in case of any sudden waves of nausea. But then, after realizing he's not in any immediate danger… 

“… It’s… sweet,” Goro comments, pleasantly surprised. Akira cocks a brow.

“Well, of course. What, were you expecting it to be bitter?”

“No.” Goro flushes, but he can’t help but break out into a tiny smile. The chocolate is a lot more delicious than anticipated, though he can’t let eating it become a habit. Quickly, he finishes his coffee and reaches to put on his coat. “Thank you for the chocolate, Kurusu-kun. It was a delightful addition to the coffee.”

Akira nods, stealing a bite from his own chocolate. “No problem. Hey, I can get you some more if you want. I have a ton just sitting in the attic, waiting to be devoured.”

Goro is almost eager to decline, but given his positive reaction to the chocolate, it would seem strange to back out now. “If that’s alright with you, Kurusu-kun, then yes—I’m glad to relieve you of the burden.”

Akira smiles; the flash of teeth is almost mischievous, a hint of the schoolboy facade fading underneath wide-framed glasses and black curls. “Sure, of course. Be right back.”

He retreats into the attic and Goro thinks, _What in God’s name did you just agree to?_ But Akira returns with a box of chocolates and Goro feels his heartbeat pick up in excitement. “Here you are,” says Akira, hand outstretched. Goro wavers before accepting the gift. “Well, enjoy yourself with that chocolate, Akechi. You should try pairing it with Kona coffee.”

“I’ll consider it, thank you.”

With a nod goodbye, Goro sets down his cup and exits Leblanc. He tries not to think about the way his heart pounds, as if it meant anything at all, as if Akira had intended to give him a gift in the first place. He probably didn’t. Just relinquished it for his own convenience. And yet…  

… It’s the only _real_ present Goro’s ever received from an acquaintance…

Stubbornly, he suffocates the thought. He sulks on his way to the subway and contemplates the weight of the chocolates in the train, it being settled on his lap and half-opened as if it would reveal some sort of epiphany.

It doesn’t, and Goro feels no less unsettled than before.

He’s tempted to throw it in the trash. But when he gets home, he unboxes the chocolate and throws one into his mouth. It sits on his tongue like a poison tablet.

Fitfully, he eats the chocolate until he feels lightheaded.

 

* * *

 

After that experience, Goro wants to abandon chocolate entirely. He fails, _hard_.

Because a couple of visits to Leblanc later, Akira approaches him with a sneaky grin. “Hey, Akechi.” He holds up a bag filled with sweets. “Got some extra. Want any?”

_No,_ he doesn’t say. “Sure,” Goro actually says, attempting a smile.

He takes a seat at his usual spot on the bar while Akira takes to brewing Goro’s coffee. “Feel free to take some from the bag,” Akira says, gesturing to it. Goro stares scornfully at it before conceding and withdrawing one chocolate.

It’s white chocolate, and shaped meticulously like a heart. Goro scrunches up his nose in distaste. “Where did you buy this, if I may ask?”

“Nowhere. Friend got it for me.” He says this without emotion, as if it’s something to be expected. Goro almost rolls his eyes at the thought. _Of course the Casanova gets all the gifts he wants. As if winning the hearts of the public isn’t enough._

He swallows down his hate, because he knows with time, Akira will get his dues.

Before he can eat his chocolate, Akira sets down his coffee and, surprisingly, a matching cup to sit beside it. Goro has no time to question it for Akira hops onto the seat to Goro’s left and snags some of his own sweets, unwrapping one and shoving it in his mouth. “Mmm, that’s good.” He hums, chewing generously.

Goro watches him eat it all, unmoving.

“Akechi?” Akira says. “Aren’t you going to eat yours?”

“Wha—oh!” Goro sputters, blushing furiously. _You were staring too long, idiot…_ Gathering his bearings, he unwraps his own treat and bites experimentally into it.

A new kind of sweet fills his mouth, enough to be called cloying. Yet with Akira sitting beside him and a warm cup of coffee to wash it down, he can kind of bear it.

“It’s tasty,” Goro comments, simply. He eats the rest of the chocolate knowing full well that Akira is appraising him. Well, he can appraise all he wants. No defense of Goro’s is going down so easily, sickeningly-sweet chocolate or not.

“Goes well with the coffee, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

“It’s Colombian. Not your usual blend.”

Goro shakes his head. “But it’s pleasant, nonetheless.”

Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Akira nods and turns away. There is a silence between them that cannot be characterized as comfortable or awkward. Simply, there.

It’d be a gamble to try and break it. Goro is used to sitting at the bar and ignoring Akira whenever he shows up (though, lately, that has proven fruitless). Yet somehow—somehow, now is different. _Now_ is charged with feelings of obligation, of instinct.

Feelings that he promptly ignores.

“So, how was that chocolate I gave you?” Akira asks suddenly, taking a sip of coffee. Goro looks at him, shocked at the jab at conversation, and sighs a bit in defeat.

“It was good, thank you…” _I’d prefer it if you didn’t give me more, though._

“Cool, cool.” Akira drops the topic after that. Goro doesn’t know whether to be disappointed, or to be relieved. “Anyways, consider it stress relief. You’ve been looking kinda dead recently, so I thought, hey, nothing that good chocolate can’t help. Of course, I don’t know what you’re going through… but I’m glad it worked.”

It’s the most that Akira’s ever said to him at once. Goro finds himself devoid of any response except a soft, stuttered, “Th—Thank you, Kurusu-kun.”

It’s the right answer, for Akira smiles, big and genuine.

_Oh, God,_ Goro thinks helplessly.

“You’re welcome.” Akira massages his neck. “You seem to really like the chocolate, so I’ll let you have this one too. No skin off my back or anything.”

“I—what?” Goro stammers, confused.

“The chocolate. You looked happy eating it. Sorry, was I assuming?”

Goro stares at him, slack-jawed and only a little mortified. “N—No… you weren’t,” he replies, quietly. Did he really look that satisfied eating the chocolate? It wasn’t even that special. He could’ve bought that anywhere.

His head begins to swim, and he’s not sure whether it’s from the chocolate or Akira.

“Oh, okay. Then…” Akira trails off, awkward. “Yeah. Take the chocolate. And—hey, if you ever want, I’ll bring you some more. To go with the coffee. Free of charge.” He’s speaking in fragments, now, and it would be cute if everything Akira did wasn’t so annoying. “It’ll be our thing. Chocolate taste testing? I dunno.”

_Jesus Christ._ The more he talks, the more Goro wants to slip out of his chair and onto the floor. Of course, he keeps calm, responding, “Sure. That would be nice.”

He regrets it the moment it leaves his mouth—but Akira’s smile almost makes it worth it. _Almost._ “Cool. We’re chocolate friends, now. Look forward to more.” With that, he slides out of his stool and rounds the counter, taking his mug with him.

Goro stares dumbly at the side of Akira’s head. Chocolate friends, huh.

This is on a whole other level of stupid.

 

* * *

 

Since that encounter, Goro distinctly begins avoiding chocolate. He’s not sure when seeing chocolate meant seeing Akira Kurusu, but it’s all he ever thinks about now. Akira. Him. Chocolate friends. What the hell _are_ chocolate friends, anyway?

He looks at the bag of sweets and thinks, _He gave that to me. He gave that to me because he thought it’d make me happy._ The thought makes him both giddy and incredulous. _Why? Why would he do that?_

He can’t help the thoughts that swarm his head. Is it something hopeful, or derisive all the same? This confusion is pitiful.

But of course, he doesn’t falter in his mission—Akira Kurusu isn’t just _Chocolate Boy_ to him. He’s the leader of the Phantom Thieves, the sole reason to his suffering. It’d be ridiculous to get all buddy-buddy with him, using chocolate, no less.

But on the contrary, it’s an excellent opportunity to gain his trust. Because how else can he topple the Phantom Thieves, if not with subterfuge?

He frequents Leblanc telling himself this. It doesn’t help that he ends the day with pounding migraines and a generous helping of chocolate to boot—a good way to ensure mental instability before bed. Still, Akira is so kind. Offering him luxurious sweets…

… Kind. Is that a word to describe Akira Kurusu?

Goro shakes his head, drumming his fingertips on the counter at Leblanc. The fact that he no longer associates _Akira_ with _annoyance_ is… alarming, to say the least.

It might have something to do with his surprisingly clear head. Watching Akira, now, free of headaches, is a new experience entirely. He is—charming. Practiced. Like this, Goro can easily examine his target, his messy hair, his subtle slouch, his full lips. He looks natural in this setting and it takes Akira’s unsettlingly dark gaze for Goro to snap out of his trance.

“Here you are,” Akira says, sliding him a steaming mug. Goro peers at it and realizes that it’s not his usual. Rather, it emits a rich aroma that is more sweet than bitter, a sugary concoction which Akira tops off with a mountain of whipped cream.

“What is this?” Goro asks, dubious.

Akira grins. “Hot chocolate.”

Goro stares at it harder, as if, by sheer will, it will disappear on the spot. But Akira nudges it towards him, saying, “My treat,” and Goro acknowledges that he has little options left. Steeling his nerves, he accepts the mug and takes a cautious sip.

“… It’s… _delicious._ ” And he means it. He has trouble comprehending the circumstances, so he takes another sip, smearing whipped cream on his upper lip.

“Slow down, Akechi.” Akira laughs. “Don’t wanna burn your tongue.” Despite this, his self-satisfaction is clear in the way his lips slant upward, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter. “Do you really mean it? That it tastes good?”

Goro considers his answer, feeling the warmth settle in his stomach. “… I mean it. There is a quality in it that you cannot find in coffee. Although I am unsure as to what this could be…”

“Don’t worry, I think I got it.”

Goro nods at this. He starts sipping regularly at the beverage, slowly, so as to not trigger his usual dizziness; it helps that he can savor it and let the sweetness wash over his tongue. Moments pass before he realizes that Akira has his gaze fixed on him, intent on something on his face. Goro tries to dissolve the blush on his cheeks.

“Wh-What?”

“… Hmm…” Akira leans forward on his palm. Without warning, he reaches into his apron and pulls out a napkin, rubbing it over Goro’s mouth.

“Mmf—!”

“There.” Akira huffs, pulling away. At Goro’s flustered look, Akira only smiles. “Sorry. You had whipped cream on your face.”

“And you didn’t think to just _tell_ me?” Goro mutters, completely red now.

Akira shrugs. However, if Goro looks harder, he can see a hint of a smirk on his face. _Self-satisfied jerk._ Shaking his head, he casts his gaze aside and indulges in his hot chocolate.

The mysterious quality of Akira’s hot chocolate… to put it into words—he feels like he’s floating on a cloud. Not hanging off the edge of a cliff, as with coffee.

He feels… at home.

 

* * *

 

He finishes the rest of Akira’s white chocolates at home. Reading a book, drinking instant coffee, watching TV, taking calls from Shido. He returns to his apartment after shooting Okumura’s shadow and digs into the bag, finding, shockingly, one more. He feels alive and dead and shoving the chocolate into his mouth grounds him, in a drunk, stupor-like kind of way—a way that helps him forget what he’s doing. That he’s not Shido’s…

… He vomits it out, later. Not because it’s chocolate, but because it’s Akira’s. Akira, who could so easily wipe Goro’s mouth with a napkin. Akira, who has served chocolate alongside Goro’s coffee for more than a week, now. Akira, who is so, so _blinding._

The dullest boy in Japan—one soon to die by Goro's hands, no less. Who would've thought he'd steal the heart of a TV-famous detective? It’s so pathetic Goro wants to laugh. Or cry. Or both.

He makes a quick stop by Leblanc that night. He can’t help it, wants to see Akira if only to think about how much he _hates_ him and wants him to disappear already. He wants to stop feeling so unsure about himself. He wants to stop cramming sugary garbage down his throat for no other reason than he’s _happy_ Akira gave it to him.

He knows it’s counterintuitive. He pretends he doesn’t. But the fact is cemented when he finally, finally sees Akira walk through the door and feels nothing but relieved.

“Oh, Akechi.” Akira offers up a gentle wave in greeting.

Goro has come to the realization that around Akira, his words fail him, so he merely smiles and nods. He still feels like he’s been put through the shredder, and it’s not helping that he’s deluged with—guilt? fatigue? irritation with the Okumura assassination—so he forgoes friendly conversation, focusing only on the coffee Sojiro had set out for him.

It’s… good coffee. As it always is. And yet, it lacks something Akira’s doesn’t…

“In the mood for something sweet?” Akira pipes up, occupying the space next to Goro. Goro stares at him and hopes his eyebags aren’t immediately obvious.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘sweet’, Kurusu-kun.”

Akira smiles impishly, the insinuation not lost on him. However, he digs into his pockets and tosses a chocolate in Goro’s direction, eliciting a feeble laugh from Goro.

“That is… You seem to have an endless supply of chocolate, don’t you?”

“What can I say?” Akira unveils his own chocolate. “It accumulates when you travel as much as I do. Go on, try it. It’s gourmet.”

“‘Gourmet’,” Goro echoes playfully, accepting it nonetheless. Without second thought, he pushes it past his lips, ignoring the near-instant protest his stomach gives him as it lurches.

“Good, isn’t it?” is all Akira says. Goro nods.

“Splendid. Thank you for the treat.”

“That’s what friends are for.” Akira grins, evidently excited to use the word. It makes Goro’s stomach turn with a new kind of nausea. He swallows, stamping down his urge to throw up, and forces himself to smile convincingly.

“Right, of course.”

He sits in silence with Akira for the next few minutes. There doesn’t need to be any words, but he wants there to be, wants to escape the suffocating feeling in his chest.

“… So…”

Akira tilts his head in questioning. _Great,_ Goro thinks, now feeling pressured. “When you say you travel a lot, do you mean in Japan or in Tokyo itself? I must say, I’m rather curious given the amount of chocolate you seem to be gathering.”

Akira looks at him as if he’s about to be let in on a little secret. “To be honest, I didn’t use to buy this much chocolate. Wasn’t my thing until recently.”

“Oh?” Goro quirks a brow. “Why is that?”

“That’s a secret.”

He says it in a deadpan, but Goro swears there’s a flirtatious undertone to it. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. “But anyways,” Akira continues, catching Goro’s attention, “I go around Tokyo a lot. Like a tourist. I have a bunch of friends kind of scattered around so it gives me a reason to look around and buy whatever I want. That being, chocolate.”

Goro ignores the pang in his chest upon hearing the word “friends” used for someone other than him. _Still, when could you ever have him to yourself?_ “It makes one wonder why chocolate seemed more appealing to you as souvenir, though,” Goro says, notwithstanding.

Akira smiles, but doesn’t answer. This is probably where the topic ends.

“Do you travel a lot, Akechi?”

Goro blinks in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Like, do you go around Japan often?”

Goro takes his hand in his chin, pensive. “Hm… When I can. I bike around and visit popular restaurants, the usual to be expected from a Detective Prince… though I imagine it’s not as much as you.”

“Ah.” Acknowledgingly, Akira nods. “Well, if you like chocolate so much, I know a few places you can buy.”

_I literally don’t. I literally hate chocolate. I don’t care that it’s good, I hate it._

“That would be nice, but I’m afraid you’ll have to indulge me later.”

Disappointment flickers in Akira’s eyes, but it’s gone as quick as it came. “Oh. Right.” He glances at the door, then at Goro. “By the way, it’s almost closing time.”

“Of course,” Goro says. He stands and bows, more out of habit than necessity. “Then, I’ll see you later, Kurusu-kun.”

“Yeah. Bye.”

He shoulders his coat and gets ready to leave. However, once he’s laid his tip on the counter, Akira catches his wrist and blurts, “Um, wait.”

Goro stares at his wrist. Then Akira’s face.

“… Can we—” Akira clears his throat, seeming uncharacteristically nervous. “I mean,  let’s exchange numbers. I don’t really have any way to contact you, so…”

“Oh—” Goro fumbles for his phone. “Yes, of course—um—”

They exchange numbers. It’s a quick, clumsy affair that has Goro bowing again, this time more hastily than before. “Right, then, I’ll be going now, Kurusu-kun.”

“Okay, seeya.”

Goro feels the blush rise on his cheeks, so he turns away before Akira can see it. Once he’s out the door, he lets his mask drop. He trembles, relishes the cold on his skin, strokes his thumb over his phone. He’d made a mistake. He knows he did. Why did he give Akira his number? Now it’ll be harder to ignore him. Now, by obligation, he _has_ to see Akira.

There’s little option to distance himself from the Phantom Thief now. But, he can’t even bring himself to regret it—he feels warm, warm in spite of the chill.

… Maybe… just this once, he can enjoy himself. Just before the dream must end. Just before he has to start lying to himself, once again.

After all, he’s hardened himself to loss. It wouldn’t hurt to lose again. It wouldn’t.

 

* * *

 

After they exchange numbers, Goro starts regularly texting Akira Kurusu. Well, that’s not quite right— _Akira_ starts texting _him_ and he has no choice but to respond. Of course, it’s nothing heavy; they greet each other good morning and talk about their schedules, all the normal pleasantries expected of a friendship.

Goro wonders what he’s done to deserve that word.

Still, he can’t help the flutter in his chest when he receives a text from Akira. It’s stupid to get flustered over something so insignificant, but he can’t remember the last time he received a message about anything _other_ than Shido and his associates, let alone something as commonplace as “How was your day?”.

It’s nice, though. To have someone to unload all of his frustrations to. Granted, he doesn’t do it often enough to trigger Akira’s suspicions, but it’s more than he’s ever allowed.

So today, he visits Leblanc. He sees Wakaba Isshiki’s daughter and his first instinct is to flee, but Akira is quicker, greeting him with a wave and gesture to the counter.

“Sit down. I’ll make you your usual coffee.”

Warily, Goro complies. He’s too busy trying to avoid the gaze of one Futaba Sakura, harsh and penetrative enough to make him want to shrink back into his seat. By the time Akira serves him his order, Goro is sweating at the nape of his neck.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, eyes downcast. If Akira notices, he doesn’t say anything, and Goro couldn’t be any more grateful for their friendship at this moment.

“No chocolate today, huh?” Goro asks, attempting to pick the mood back up. This, Akira takes note of, smiling a disarming smile and leaning across the counter.

“Sorry, but no. Guess you’ll have to come around more often to find out.”

Someone makes a noise, likely Futaba, that communicates their disgust. Akira breaks into unapologetic laughter and Goro hunches his shoulders, almost wishing that Akira _did_ have the chocolate so that they could have avoided that line.

“Flirt when there’s no one else around, Akira,” Futaba snaps from the corner of a faraway booth, blushing slightly.

“Sorry, sorry.” He’s clearly not sorry. “If it makes you so uncomfortable, you can hang out with Morgana upstairs while you wait for me to finish up.”

Happy to take him up on the offer, Futaba leaps out of the booth and retreats into the attic, casting Goro one last searching look before disappearing elsewhere. Goro releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding—but the weight on his chest doesn’t lift. Nor does his brewing headache.

“Has she gotten over her social anxiety?” Goro asks, just to fill the air with words.

Akira regards him. “… More or less. How did you know about that?”

“Oh—um—” Goro flushes. “She just seemed a little… off-kilter, the moment we first met. I mean, considering the way she hid behind your shoulder, I assumed she wasn’t used to being in the presence of strangers, even if it was just one…”

Akira distractedly massages his neck. “Ah, yeah. That’s Futaba, all right. Anyways, why don’t you drink some of your coffee now? It’ll get cold.”

“Hm? Ah, yes.” Goro blinks, trying to rid of his flush. With one sip of the coffee, he is immediately hit with the taste of something syrupy and sweet, maybe leaning towards caramel or some other sweetener. It isn’t unpleasant, so he drinks some more, all the while ignoring Akira’s probing eyes from behind the counter.

“Like the twist? I added caramel,” Akira pipes up, confirming Goro’s suspicions.

“It’s delicious,” Goro agrees. “I’m debating whether or not I should add it to my usual order. You have a strange way of knowing my preferences, Kurusu-kun.”

“Ah, what can I say? You’re just so easy to please, Akechi.”

Goro feels himself flinch. Before he can get out a word of protest, Sojiro appears around the corner, prompting him to keep his silence.

“Oh, you’re here,” Sojiro says. He looks at Goro, then at Akira, before saying, “Why don’t you serve him a plate of curry? I’m sure he’ll like it.”

“That’s quite alright, Boss—” Goro begins, but is immediately interrupted.

“No, no, consider it thanks. You’ve been quite loyal to this café which deserves some form of gratitude, and you’ve never even tried the curry.”

Goro's smile twitches. Thanks… for killing Futaba’s mother? For swimming in guilt and doing nothing about it? Goro almost laughs in his bitterness.

Anyways, Akira is clearly on board with the idea, so he disappears into the kitchen while Sojiro rounds the counter. “I’ll be closing up, as usual,” Sojiro tells him at the door. “Feel free to stay longer to finish that coffee. Oh, and hope you like the curry.”

“Of course. Thank you for that, Boss.”

He gives Goro a curt nod before exiting the establishment. Akira is making noises inside the kitchen, the clinks of pots and pans being shuffled around, which echo in the quietness of the café. Goro contemplates watching TV, but he knows if he does, he’ll likely catch his own face staring back—his empty gaze, his forced smile, his meaningless words.

He focuses himself on Akira’s work, instead. There are faint sounds coming from upstairs; that strange, talking cat and Futaba engaged in a heated conversation. He feels his chest constrict when he remembers what he did to her mother.

_What Shido forced you to do to her mother,_ some voice at the back of his mind reminds him, firmly. 

_Ha ha,_ Goro thinks, and he's seething with hate. _Like that’ll make a difference._

Eventually, Akira emerges with the curry, piping hot and probably spicier than Goro is able to take. Goro flashes what he hopes is a smile, utters out a “Thank you,” and watches the steam rise from the plate.

“Not gonna eat it yet?” Akira asks, his eyes ever searching.

Instead of answering, Goro stares at the curry, the warmth which emanates from it. He mutters, “Can I ask you a question?” To which Akira nods, albeit uncertainly.

Goro smiles. Just a bit, though. “If there is someone in your life who makes bad decisions because of their circumstances, do you think there is a chance for them to escape? And if so, would they be forgiven?”

He’s talking about himself, of course. But Akira doesn’t know that. He meets Goro with a critical eye and says, “It’s possible. But it depends on the situation. What’s this all of a sudden, Akechi?”

_It depends. Obviously._ Shaking his head, he takes a sip of his coffee and says, “Nothing. Just this book I’m reading.”

“Oh yeah? What book?”

“Something definitely not your type, Kurusu-kun. I wouldn’t bother reading it.”

“You underestimate me, Akechi,” Akira teases. “Tell me what book.”

And so they spend the night there, talking idly amongst themselves. It’s too casual, nothing that Goro should be granted the privilege of experiencing. He’s got debts to pay and politicians to appease. If he falls short, now, he’ll be dismissed. If he falls short, now, he’ll be _killed_. But is it worth stealing children of their mothers? Killing teenagers sworn to justice?

Teenagers who might possibly be his only chance of a change of heart?

God. He has to doubt himself _now,_ of all times, when he can't afford to falter. Anyways, he eats the curry, rich and inviting and a far cry from what he is used to. There’s the fact that Akira made it for him, too, and Akira smiles when he realizes Goro’s enjoying the food.

“Not bad, right? Sojiro taught it to me.”

Goro swallows it down. “Yes, it’s quite delicious. I can tell that you were the one who made it, Kurusu-kun. It has that hint of a personal touch to it.”

“Aw, how sweet of you, Detective Prince.” Akira, unexpectedly, blushes at the compliment. Goro stares hard at him before moving his gaze to the floor.

Afterward, the two fall silent, unsure of how to proceed from there. Goro checks the time, realizing it to be nearing midnight, and reaches to put on the coat. Akira, however, stops him.

“Don’t you wanna hang out?” he says, brimming with optimism.

Goro hesitates. “… But Futaba-chan—”

“She won’t mind. If anything, this is good for her practice.”

Goro is ready, _really_ ready to run. “That’s fine, but I must be—”

“ _Akechiii._ ” He says it in that high-pitched, sing-song voice that is good at breaking Goro’s defenses. He almost gives in—but in that instance, his phone rings, saving him from a potentially disastrous situation.

Casting an apologetic gaze to Akira, Goro takes out his phone and reads the name to be Masayoshi Shido. He frowns. _Already? So hasty… even with months to spare._

“I really need to take this,” he says with an air of finality, and Akira’s frown urges one of his own. “I’ll… text you later. For now, good night, Kurusu-kun.”

And this time, he does leave. Without a second glance to Akira.

When he gets home, worn out from his trip to the Metaverse, he heads for the kitchen, opening the fridge and looking for chocolate that isn’t there. He heaves a sigh. Pulling up his phone, he opens one of his contacts and types in a message.

_I forgot to thank you for the curry and coffee, by the way._

_Also… for listening to me. So thank you._

_And good night._

He closes it before Akira can respond. He doesn’t want to see what he has to say.

 

* * *

 

The next time he drops by Leblanc is later than he would’ve liked. Akira greets him enthusiastically, saying, “Hey, Akechi, are you free today?”

_Besides waiting on my boss to call me for the extermination of his political rivals, no, I’m completely free._ “Free enough to be here,” Goro says instead, furrowing his brow. “Why?”

“Oh, cool. I was thinking we should go to Shibuya. That is, if you're willing.”

Goro’s brow knits harder. “What’s this all of a sudden, Kurusu-kun?”

“Well, I have nothing to do today and my friends are all busy, so I thought it’d be the perfect opportunity.”

Goro frowns. _Of course. I’m nothing but an afterthought._ Pointedly, he clears his throat, tossing the notion from his head. “What do you have in mind, if I may ask? Shibuya is a rather large area, and there must be a myriad of things to do there.”

“Well, us being chocolate friends and all…” Akira sidles up to Goro, causing the boy to freeze. “They’re doing double chocolate crepes at Central Street today. So, I was thinking I’d take my favorite chocolate enthusiast there to eat together.”

_Favorite chocolate enthusiast?_ Goro wants to barf. “I mean,” Goro stammers, a little flushed, “if that is not too much trouble on you, then sure, I’d be glad to accept.”

“Dude, I offered.” Akira nudges him playfully in the ribs. Had that been intentional? Are they close enough to do that yet? “I haven’t had the chance to try the crepes myself, so this is perfect. Be warned, though. It’s always crowded there, so we might have to wait a while.”

“Nothing I’m not used to.”

Akira’s lips spread into a cheeky grin. “Good. Then let’s hit it.”

The two take off to the train station, making small talk as they go. Goro wants to talk about the Phantom Thieves or the Okumura scandals as he usually does, but Akira isn’t accommodating; it’s almost as if he’s deliberately avoiding the subject. Though, Goro supposes it isn’t a very appropriate thing to talk about on an outing like this.

The subway, unfortunately, is _very_ crowded. Goro finds himself pressed up against the window, with Akira squeezed at his side. And they’re _close_. _So, so close_.

Can Akira hear how his breath grows labored? Can he feel Goro’s blood thrum through his veins ten times faster?

They arrive at Shibuya without incident. As expected, the line for crepes at Central Street is long, undoubtedly because of the double chocolate crepe special. But he underestimated its popularity. The line is longer than anything Goro has the patience to deal with. Goro wants to whine about it, wants to avoid a potentially awkward social situation with Akira while waiting in line, but the only alternative to that would be to—

“Should’ve guessed they’d be popular,” Akira murmurs then, though not frustratedly. Goro looks at him, studying him in private.

“… Well, I’m not very hungry yet, anyways. We can come back later.”

Akira, too, looks at Goro, though this time in surprise. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Goro says.

Akira tells him that their best bet for a shorter line is after the lunch rush, so to wait it out, the pair decide to walk around Central Street and observe the sights. Their first stop is the bookstore just next to the crepe shop, where Goro engages Akira in a conversation about their favorite authors (“I don’t understand Shakespeare,” Akira says, frowning, and Goro tries not to take it personally). Then it’s a visit to an arcade, where Goro watches Akira shoot at things.

“You should try it,” Akira says at one point, manhandling a gun into Goro’s hands.

“Hey—wait a moment—just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Hurry up, the game’s starting.”  

Stifling his irritation, Goro concedes and attempts to focus on the game. He’s good for a beginner—unsurprising given his familiarity with guns in the Metaverse—but Akira doesn’t know this, and watches his performance with barefaced awe.

“How are you so good?” Akira says, ogling at Goro like a little kid.

Goro can’t help the triumphant smirk on his face; he can't help it, the praise makes him puff up. “Beginner’s luck, I suppose?” The pout on Akira’s face, then, makes Goro feel significantly less triumphant.

He can feel his head throb with something dull, the beginnings of another headache. Perhaps he should have refused the arcade when he had the chance.

Later, Akira suggests going to the Underground Mall, but evening hits and Goro remembers the entire reason they’d come in the first place. “The crepes,” he urges, earning Akira’s attention. “We should buy some before they close shop.”

“Oh, right.”

Goro practically drags Akira down Central Street, only to find that the line is ever long. Akira, however, is optimistic. “We can pass the time somehow—how do word games sound?”

And so, they take to playing shiritori. Goro is well-read and good at keeping up, but Akira, Akira is quick, and _skilled._ Better than Goro could have ever expected from a delinquent.

Though, that isn't saying much for Goro, a bona fide murderer, is it.

Eventually, their conversation derails onto other things. “I’m not a huge fan of Big Bang Burger, to be honest.”

“Aw, what?” Akira clicks his tongue. “You’re such an adult, Akechi.”

Goro hunches his shoulders, indignant. “Adults eat fast food, Kurusu-kun.”

“Not what I meant.” Akira chuckles, and his gaze slides to the sky in deep thought. “I mean—like—you are like an adult and all, but I was thinking more along the lines of… a _sophisticated_ one. A real Detective Prince, almost.” A smirk overtakes his features momentarily. “I wonder how you’d do talking to one of my friends, Akechi.”

“One of your friends?” Goro’s defenses go up, and he clenches his fist, feeling sulky.

“Yeah. Like my friend Futaba or something. Although I guess you and Yusuke could get along pretty well, considering you both lack knowledge on popular culture.”

“Lack knowledge on—excuse me?”

Akira laughs, loud and bright and _very quickly doing things to Goro’s heart._ “Sorry, sorry, I could be wrong about that. But I guess the two of us are doing just fine on that front. Right?”

Slowly, all tension drains from Goro’s shoulders. He drops his gaze to the floor, where his feet shift anxiously on the pavement. “… Yes, I suppose.”

Akira smiles softly at that. Soon, they arrive at the front of the line, where Akira orders two crepes as promised (“It’s my treat,” Akira insists when Goro tries to pay him back, laughing at Goro’s unhappy face). They find a bench somewhere to eat, sitting a proper distance away from each other (how close is too close? how far is too far?) and nibbling intermittently at their crepes. With a crepe to occupy him, Akira is uncomfortably silent; Goro, too, says little.

“How is it?” Akira eventually asks, not even halfway through his share. Goro, on the other hand, has eaten a generous amount.

“Quite delectable, thank you. You don’t seem to have a big appetite, though.”

“What? Oh.” Akira chuckles, breathy and a little sheepish. “Yeah, uh, I’m not huge on crepes. But it’s pretty good, I guess.”

That makes Goro blink twice. “… You don’t like crepes?”

“Not really, no.”

“Then—” He draws his eyebrows together, trying to piece it all together. “Why would you invite me out to crepes if they’re not your thing?”

“Uh, why else?” Akira looks at him as if he’s grown another head. “I thought you’d like it if I took you out, so I took you out. Nothing more, nothing less.”

He’s still having a hard time grasping that concept. It must show on his face, for Akira’s conveys a kind of disbelief that can’t be caused by mere wordlessness.

“Goro—” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Akira turns to him, calculative. “We’re friends. Friends do things for each other. Don’t you do the same for your friends?”

Goro bites his lip. He doesn’t know how he should answer, but there’s no beating around the bush here. “I don’t have time for friends.”

And that does it. Akira looks crestfallen and empathetic at the same time. Goro thinks, _Don’t look at me like that,_ swallowing audibly. _L_ _ike you actually care._

“You have time for me, though?”

Goro tenses at the statement. “Um—wh—”

Akira looks really, _very_ serious about this, his lips pressed into a thin line. Goro makes the mistake of meeting his eyes, and there, he finds himself sinking deep into dark irises. It’s the closest he’s ever seen them—in all of its ethereal beauty, there is a hint of something there that probes deep into Goro’s being. Something knowing.

Before he knows it, his world starts to spin and Goro sways forward, almost dropping his crepe in his disoriented state. Akira catches him firmly by the shoulder.

“Goro, are you okay?” he asks, frantic almost. Goro puts a hand to his forehead, feeling himself sink further and further into a daze.

“I—I’m fine. Just a little dizziness, is all…”

“A _little?”_ Akira gawps. “Look, forget about the crepes, let’s go back. You look like you need the rest.”

Goro wants to protest, but finds he has no energy for it and merely shakes his head in response. Trashing his crepe, Akira heaves Goro up and helps him to the station, where they wait for their next train. Goro, regrettably, forgets to tell Akira where he lives and they end up taking the train for Yogen-Jaya instead, the opposite of where Goro should be retiring to rest.

_You should really lay off on the chocolate, Goro—lest you want more migraines…_

After that, his thoughts become muddled. All he can feel his Akira’s warm and constant pressure beside him, a warmth that he barely, just barely leans into. _I forgot how it felt to be this close to someone,_ he thinks, somehow more lucidly than before.

Several more minutes of fading in and out of consciousness, and the train screeches to a stop. Akira helps him up, lets him lean on his shoulder all the way to the Backstreets. At Leblanc, most of Goro’s haze has cleared, but the train ride coupled with the walk to Leblanc has done little good for his vertigo—and he finds himself stumbling, even when Akira sets him down in one of the booths.

“What happened back there?” Akira asks, concern lining his expression.

_You happened._ “Another migraine,” is all he offers, and Akira visibly grimaces.

“ _Another?”_ he repeats, and the stark worry in his tone makes Goro’s stomach twist. “Take care of yourself, Goro. I don’t want you collapsing in the middle of work.”

“Goro…”

“What?”

“You called me Goro,” he clarifies, “like earlier today.”

That makes Akira pause. He stands there, as if contemplating, before fiddling with his fringe in a strange bout of nervousness. “Oh. Right. Is it, um, okay with you if I… ?”

_No_  would be the right answer to that, but Goro doesn’t find it in himself to say so. “Sure.” His head lolls, and he rests his cheek in his hand, feigning composure. “You can call me that.”

“Oh… Nice.” Akira scratches his cheek. “Then, you can call me Akira.”

_Akira,_ he thinks. _Akira, Akira, Akira._ It feels so light, so free. Goro likes to play around with it in his head, until any action involving his head becomes unbearable to perform and he almost slams his face onto the table. In panic, or concern, or both, Akira plants both hands on Goro’s shoulders.

“Hey, buddy, you’re not looking good. Leblanc isn’t closed yet and we should relocate upstairs to avoid any weird stares from the customers.”

Blearily, Goro nods, letting Akira pull him up like a doll. It feels like forever until they’re up the stairs, Goro’s head pounding even harder with the effort, and once they’re there Akira has taken to removing his coat and loosening his tie. Goro, shockingly, denies none of it.

“Take off your shoes,” Akira orders him, then. “You can sleep here tonight.”

Immediately, it registers in Goro’s head that this is a bad idea. However, he doesn’t act on it; he lets his instincts control him, taking off his shoes and following Akira’s soft instructions.

… Goro doesn’t remember what happens next. Just that he hits something soft, a blanket is pulled over him, and then he’s out like a light.

 

* * *

 

He wakes to darkness. Groaning lightly, Goro shifts and attempts to stretch his aching muscles, but something inhibits him and his brows jump to his forehead.

A weight is pressed against his back. And, like a vise, arms trap his middle, as well as another pair of legs which tangle with his. Hysterically, Goro tries to recollect the events of yesterday. Shibuya. The arcade. Chocolate crepes, and—

A migraine. The impending vertigo. Which, of course, explains this.

Still, he never imagined he would end up in Akira’s _bed_ of all places. Feeling himself heat up at the thought, Goro disentangles himself from Akira and tries to slip away from bed. The movement rouses Akira in his slumber and Goro freezes, fearfully.

_Please don’t wake up,_ he thinks, praying to whatever God that’ll listen. _Please don’t wake up. Please don’t wake up. Please—_

“Goro… ?”

_Oh, fuck._

It doesn’t help that Akira’s groggy voice is all kinds of cute, not to mention, slightly arousing. Goro swats away the thought. “Good morning, Akira,” he greets, shutting his eyes tight.

He hears Akira shift from behind him, popping some bones in his back. “Leaving so soon?” Akira asks, and his disappointment is clear.

Goro hugs himself self-consciously. “Yes. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“… You were screaming in your sleep.”

“What?” Goro gapes at him, disbelieving. _Another nightmare? I hardly remember…_

“Yes,” Akira whispers, rubbing his arm. “So I left the couch to join you. After that, you stopped squirming, and you kinda slept peacefully for a while—though you were whimpering at some point, too, and it was a little difficult to calm you down…”

_God._ Goro is embarrassed just listening to him. “Well, I appreciate your concern, Akira,” he says, just to drop the subject, “but I’m fine now, you see. I’m used to it.”

That makes Akira look up. Goro wonders if he said the wrong thing. “Used to it?”

“Y—Yes.” Goro averts his gaze, fingers digging into his skin. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Migraines, nightmares… Goro, are you alright?”

Parts of his facade crack. Achingly, shamefully, Goro grits his teeth and begins fastening the buttons to his collar. “It’s none of your concern, Akira. Now, I must be leaving, so if you would be so kind—”

“No.”

Arms fasten around his waist, and Goro stiffens. He struggles in Akira’s embrace, twisting, turning, but Akira holds fast and provides no escape route. “Goro—Goro, listen to me,” he pleads, through Goro’s wriggling, “I want to help you. Can’t you just let me do that?”

“Why would you want that?” Goro asks, hands prying at Akira’s own now. They don’t budge. “I’m not worth your time, I’m just a distraction…”

“You’re my _friend,_ Goro.” Akira sounds affronted. “Don’t call yourself that. I want—I want to be close to you. I want to understand you, and yet you keep pulling stupid shit like this…”

It’s too much. It’s too much for Goro to handle. With much effort, Goro finally breaks free of Akira’s grasp, though Akira makes no move to reclaim it. “You don’t mean that,” he says, chest heaving. “People cling to me when it suits them, and once I’ve lost worth in their eyes they abandon me. I’m worth nothing. I’m just a tool.”

Goro clamps a palm over his mouth. _Shit._ Why did he say that? It startles Akira; the boy seizes up, eyes wide and melancholy. Goro clenches his teeth. _Now you look suspicious, you dumbass._

So why? Why can’t he help but want to reveal a little bit more?

“Goro, that’s not true,” Akira says. Oh. So he’s still going.

Deciding not to refute him, Goro slides off the bed, grabbing all his clothes. “Forget it. Your friends don’t even like me, I’ll just cause trouble for all of you.”

“You’re not,” Akira begins, “trouble.” Goro stares at him, appalled, and Akira meets his gaze with equal ferocity. “I like having you around, Goro. Even when you push me away. I like getting to know you and seeing you around, talking about things that interest you, not just Phantom Thief business and politics. You’re… special. And no one else sees that.”

“And you do?” Goro asks, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Akira gazes at him. That same, plaintive look. “More than you’ll probably accept.”

Goro inhales a shuddering breath, slowly in, and slowly out. There’s tension thick in the air that sparks between them, for the first time nothing nervous or uncertain. Expectant, if Goro could apply a word. But also, deeper inside him, is disgust. Disgust with himself, disgust with Akira. _You’re fraternizing with the enemy. What good’ll that do you?_

_He’ll have a bullet in his brain in a few months, and you want to convince him otherwise?_

“I’m not—” Goro’s breath hitches sharply. “—I’m not going to argue with you, Akira. I just need time to think. You’ll let me do that, right?”

“Of course.” Akira nods fervently. “Of course, Goro, anything.”  

“… Thank you.” Goro shrugs on his coat, goes without the tie. Slipping his shoes on, he bids Akira a quiet farewell, deliberately ignoring the sad expression sure to be clouding Akira's face. He also makes sure to ignore the way tears gather in his eyes on the way downstairs, unyielding.

 

* * *

 

The weeks pass in relative quiet. When Goro does visit Leblanc, he makes sure it’s when Akira is out, surely out spending time with other people better than him. He runs into Akira, once; it’s a bit after Okumura is shown dying on live television, a horrific sight for even someone like Goro. “Ah, it’s you,” he says, startled in more ways than one. “My apologies. I was submerged in my thoughts and lost track of the time.”

Akira is clearly impatient for Goro to make up his mind about the other day, but Goro, on the contrary, cannot be patient enough. He makes Akira wait for his answer and discusses the Phantom Thieves casually, as if it were any normal day.

Akira, at least, is compliant enough to listen. Their conversation is pleasant and Goro finds himself not hating Akira by the end of it—they part ways, after a while.

But though Goro sees Akira and Akira texts him occasionally, it’s never about Goro’s breakdown in the attic. It’s never about Goro’s day or Goro’s feelings. It’s things about the weather, or a new book, or a recent event at school.

And it’s never, ever about chocolate.

But he misses it—misses Akira, loathe as he is to admit it. He misses when he didn’t have to worry about his stupid feelings or Akira’s heartfelt words, when life between them was just bites of chocolate and playful banter. He misses when he could be easygoing with Akira and be comfy in his presence, soaking in the coffee, soaking in the sweetness of his stupid candies.

It's annoying. It's futile to even  _want_ him.

_If I kill you, will I be happy?_

_If I kill you, will my suffering cease?_

_Does it even matter what I want if my hands are tied?_

… Eventually, Goro receives news of a festival in Shujin, in which _he_ is to participate in a sort of conference. It lines up perfectly with his plans to infiltrate the Phantom Thieves ranks; of course, that means confronting Akira.

No matter. He can be agreeable when he wants to.

That day, thankfully, is a bit further off from today. He sits in Leblanc drinking Sojiro’s coffee as usual; it’s not as delicate as Akira’s coffee, and it lights up his nerves, hard. He watches Akira walk through the door impassively and puts a smile on his face, just for show. “Welcome home.” It feels weird saying that.

Akira looks at him for a long, awkward while. He seems like he’s debating on what to say, because once he’s done, what comes out of his mouth is outrageous. “Honey, I’m home.”

Goro gnashes his teeth and puts that statement way, way behind him. “You’re back awfully late.” Eager to redirect the conversation, Goro turns to Sojiro in front of him (who is oddly unaffected by Akira’s weird greeting) and says, “How has business been for you lately?”

As if Goro hadn’t been sitting here the entire time, observing the room. Sojiro, too, scoffs at the idea. “Take a look around.”

The two talk briefly about Nijima, which has Goro glad for some kind of distraction. All the while, Akira stands at the entrance, not offering any of his own input.

All of a sudden, a voice leaks through the television, familiar and awfully fake. It’s of his own father—preaching bullshit about justice and false promises. Goro wants to shatter his cup, but it’d be bad form; instead, he listens quietly, feigning absorption.

That, of course, is not enough to stop his ire from rising. It dribbles through, in his words and plastic smile, when speaking to Akira about the Phantom Thieves. He knows he’s rehearsing lines, honeyed voice spewing pleasantries and near-compliments that hint slightly at empathy towards the Phantom Thieves. All part of the plan. All meaningless, all formulaic.

His conversations with Akira, though—those had all been genuine. Bonding over a nonexistent love for chocolate and pretending to be a normal teenage boy… it had been nice. Enjoyable, even. Yet Goro had chosen to sacrifice it all at the altar of his petty vendetta.

Which he acknowledges, now, is petty.

Something must be visible. Some layer, some mask peeled away to reveal his insecurity. For Akira glimpses him and twists his lip in displeasure.

“Goro,” he says, at once. Goro faces him in shock. “I have something for you.”

Goro lofts a brow. “Really?”

“Yeah. Come upstairs.”

He awaits no answers. He walks, briskly, past Goro, stomping up the stairs in a hurried fashion. Blinking stupidly, Goro sets his coffee down and glares at the staircase, contemplating escape. And then, he stands and ascends the stairs.

In the attic, Akira sits on the couch, turning a box over in his hands. Goro’s throat constricts at the sight. “Sit,” Akira says, gesturing to the spot next to him. Goro does so, a little too slow.

“What’s this?” Goro asks quietly, afraid his voice will reveal too much emotion if he doesn’t. Akira eyes him levelly; his gaze is as powerful as ever, as if by staring alone, he can strip away at Goro’s walls. Part of him wants Akira to—part of him is desperate for release. The other part of him wants nothing more but to flee.

“I found this during my visit to Harajuku,” Akira says, finally. Dislodging the cover, he reaches inside and unearths a small ball of chocolate. Goro squints incredulously at it.

“… That’s…”

“Try it,” Akira insists, lifting the delicacy to Goro’s lips. Goro flounders.

_What the hell am I, a dog?_

Hoping his face isn’t too red, Goro reluctantly opens his mouth and lets Akira slip the chocolate inside. He takes a bite—one, two, three—feels the crunch of something nutty, soothed by the smoothness of the chocolate. Some of it gets stuck in his teeth.

“There are nuts in here,” Goro comments, mindlessly. Akira nods, matter-of-fact.

“They reminded me of you.”

“… What?” Goro faces him slowly. There is a smirk on Akira’s lips, though it’s lacking in its usual devilishness.

“You can be soft at times, but also, prickly. You’re also sweet, yet, rough around the edges.” He blushes slightly as he says it, gaze too bashful for Goro’s liking. “Like the macadamia nuts that get stuck in your teeth, you get stuck in my mind. And it’s hard to take you out. When I manage to, there’s still pain that lingers there, and a bitter aftertaste.”

Goro falls silent. He can’t help the mutter that escapes him, then: “That is rather…  mawkish. I never thought I’d see the day where I’d be compared to chocolate.”

Akira’s smirk melts into a smile. It’s all sincerity and devotion, and Goro’s heart _hurts;_ it tightens, and skips several beats. “The truth is,” Akira continues softly, and oh—when had they drifted so close? “I only… started buying chocolate because of you.”

Goro’s eyes widen.

“I actually—” Akira laughs in the few inches between them, and Goro can feel his breath fan over his cheeks. “—couldn’t stop eating anything but chocolate since that day.”

Goro actually _smiles_ at that. It’s foolish, he knows. But the irony is too good, and like something shatters within him, he starts bubbling into uncontrollable laughter.

Akira’s brows disappear beneath his fringe. “Goro, are you okay?”

“Y-Yes—I—” He doubles over, slapping a hand over his mouth trying to stifle his pathetic laughter.

Akira frowns in his embarrassment. “Look, I get it, it’s stupid.”

“Oh, Akira, you don’t understand…” By now, his mirth has devolved into nothing but tiny giggles. He looks up, tossing the hair out of his eyes. “I'm the same. I _hate_ chocolate. But I keep eating it because I… I…”

… Because he what?

Remembering every little thing Akira did for him, Goro realizes, despairingly, that he had _fun_ humoring Akira with his silly chocolates and city outings. He’d gotten inevitably ensnared in the web of Akira’s affections and he finds now that he’s doesn’t mind the pain—doesn’t mind that he’s digging his own goddamn grave.

He knows this for sure: it can’t last forever. He has a future in store thanks to his long years of toiling, and Akira… doesn’t fit anywhere in it. It’s sickening. No, _he’s_ sickening. He wants… no, _needs…_

Without someone like Akira, he’ll be…

… He barely notices the tears pricking his eyes. It’s only when, in the thickness of the silence, Akira draws impossibly closer and brushes away a tear on his cheek, and it hits Goro that he can’t keep this moment in his heart for long.

So he leans in, nuzzles Akira’s palm. Akira’s eyes go wide with shock and something else, a layer that Goro fails to comprehend with blurry eyes.

And then he realizes, _lonely._ That’s what he’ll be without Akira in his life. _Lonely._

Because the truth of the matter is, Goro has no one _but_ him. He has fans and admirers and a future of fame mapped out for him, but he doesn’t have this, doesn’t have _intimacy._ Akira, though, has just that. He has it with Goro and everyone else he’d put under his spell, just like he had the first night he offered Goro chocolate.

And that’s the thing. If Goro were to leave right now, Akira could be spared the burden. It might hurt for a while, but Akira has friends to heal that.

And maybe, just maybe, someone else to take Goro’s place.

The revelation stings. The tears sting, Akira’s touch stings, everything, _everything._

“I c-can’t,” he murmurs, detaching himself from Akira’s hand. Akira watches him with hurt and confusion and Goro thinks, _Please, don’t give me that look._

“What?” Akira begs. “What can’t you do?”

“I can’t do _this._ ” It just tumbles out. Overflows. He had filled his heart trying to repress his emotions, to the point where now, they burst at the seams. Goro draws away and rubs furiously at his eyes. “Don’t you get it, Akira? You don’t need me. I-I’ve never been good for anyone…”

“I _don’t_ get it,” says Akira. “I really don’t. What do you have to hide?”

Goro relents. _I couldn’t possibly tell you._ It sits at the tip of his tongue, but never leaves. Still, Goro regains momentum: “It doesn’t matter. You can forget about me, you’ll—you’ll move on, be happy with someone else—”

_Because I can’t,_ Goro thinks. _I can’t know happiness like you._

“What are you saying?” Akira implores. He pitches forward, seizes Goro’s shoulders. “Stop it. Just stop. Tell me why it’s so important that I distance myself from you.”

_God, I said too much._ Goro feels indelibly trapped. He tries to stand up, but Akira is faster and yanks him back towards him, causing Goro to stumble forward and just barely miss crashing into Akira himself.

He catches himself on Akira’s shoulder. One knee lands outside of Akira’s thigh, his other foot still planted firmly on the ground. Any lower and he’d be on Akira’s lap.

“… Goro…” Akira murmurs, imperceptibly close. The proximity is both alarming and tantalizing. “Please.”

Goro turns away.

“… You’re right,” Akira admits. “I _don’t_ know a lot about you. But, I know that you’re alone, and that no one deserves that. I’ve grown fond of you over these past few months, Goro… And I want to show you how much I mean that. Please, let me do at least that.”

Goro shivers, coming apart underneath Akira’s gaze. He feels Akira’s hand on the small of his back, tugging him downward. Goro, with little strength in his legs, falls against him. His other hand comes up to rest on Goro’s cheek, continuing to gently, gently wipe away the tears staining it.

“Is this okay?” Akira whispers. Goro’s breath releases from him in a quiet shudder. Voices surface in his head.

**_Don’t listen to him. He’s lying, he’s lying—_ **

**_Let it be, Goro… let it be._ **

They clash like a discordant orchestra. It becomes hard to think, hard to see past the two shadows looming over him, the angry hiss of Loki and gentle reassurances of Robin Hood. If he bites down harder on his lip he’ll bleed. He kind of wants it to.

“Why?” Goro asks, because that’s all that he can manage.

Silence passes over them for a moment. And then, “You’re the brightest when you’re happy, Goro. I like it.”

Slowly—surely—Akira’s hand travels lower, beneath Goro’s jaw. He stares at Goro, asking. Goro nods. Taking a breath, Akira closes that last centimeter and presses his lips to his.

Goro’s heart stops altogether. He thinks, and then he thinks no more. Screwing his eyes shut, Goro surrenders to the feeling and clutches Akira’s shirt. It’s so good, so sweet and full and _right,_ but there’s a knife driving itself deep into Goro’s chest, unforgiving. Akira presses closer, chests together, fingers snarled in Goro’s hair, and Goro splays his hand flat over Akira’s collarbone, feeling the heat growing there.

He can't resist it. Their kiss is slow, hot, desperate. It reminds Goro of all the chocolate he shared with Akira, Akira’s touch dizzying against his skin. He feels lightheaded just breathing in Akira’s scent.

And Goro aches so strongly. As Akira’s hands travel down Goro’s shoulders, his chest, his waist. A tongue pokes between Goro’s lips and he lets it in, lets Akira’s taste mingle with his. It’s so unlike anything he has ever experienced—it’s an overwhelming mix of sensations, his skin alighting in fire wherever Akira touches. It’s irresistible. And yet, it… _hurts_.

**_How could he possibly love you?_ ** Loki sneers at him, malicious. **_He doesn’t know the true you._ **

**_Forget that,_ ** says Robin Hood. **_You can still fix this, Goro. He is your only chance._ **

_Shut up,_ Goro thinks. _Shut up, shut up, shut up._

The thoughts are quashed when Akira’s lips find his cheek, his nose, his eyelids. Goro closes his eyes and relishes it. He knows can’t have anything like this again in his life because he hardly deserves it, doesn’t even deserve Akira’s gaze.

_So how?_ Goro’s fingers tighten into fists. _How can you be so gentle with me?_

But still—stubborn as ever—Akira’s eyes lock with his. Half-lidded and dark, touching the very depths of his soul. Goro makes a soft sound at the bottom of his throat and Akira pulls away, sucks at his bottom lip before dipping lower.

“A—Akira…” he whispers, as Akira mouths at the hollow of his throat. The hand in his hair pulls his head back, exposing more of him for Akira to explore.

His tongue is so hot, wanting. It glides wet and slow over his neck, down his collarbone, where Akira’s fingers fly deftly over his tie and shirt buttons. Goro gasps at the sudden movement, wondering, hoping—

… Hoping what? That Akira will have his way with poor, lonely Goro?

**_You’re vulnerable now. Let him in._ **

The words by themselves are tempting. But then Loki’s cuts in, cruel and unmerciful: **_You fool. You’ve put yourself at a disadvantage. What does this boy have to offer to you? He’s pathetic, he’s nothing, he’ll only get in your way._ **

_Stop it,_ Goro thinks, but Loki, for all intents and purposes, doesn’t listen.

**_… You can still kill him like this,_ ** he says. **_He’s off-guard, willing to do whatever—_ **

“Hey, now.” Akira taps him all of a sudden, and Goro starts. “I can hear you thinking.”

Goro’s composure crumbles. He’s trembling violently, now, and one hand curls loosely around Akira’s wrist as if to stop him from going further. But Akira moves closer, his fingers still dug into Goro’s shirt. “Why are you still hesitating, Goro? Think of nothing else. Think only of me. It’s just you and I, here. Just you and I.”

_Just him and me._ Like sand, Loki and Robin Hood fall apart in front of Goro. And he can hear his first coherent thought bubbling to the surface:

_I… want to be with him._

It's the truth, unveiled. Dark and hideous, but stark in its honesty.

And the truth is, he doesn't care what will become of him later. Right now, he has something  _real,_ nothing faked or pre-planned or manipulated. It's something he could never have before. Companionship. It's something he can have now.

No matter how transitory.

As he absorbs the thought, he inhales deeply.

“… Akira…” Goro whispers, moving the boy’s hands away. Haltingly, with a deep breath to calm his shivers, Goro unbuttons his peacoat and peels it away from his body. Akira watches him do it wordlessly, dark eyes wide with something akin to hunger.

“Please,” Goro says. “Show me…"

_If you really like me._

That’s all the confirmation Akira needs. He recaptures Goro’s lips in a heated kiss, sliding his hands down to cup Goro’s ass and lift him up with a huff. Goro yelps into Akira’s mouth; he can feel Akira, a bit smugly, smile against his lips. With minor difficulty, Akira hauls him over to the bed, where he lays Goro flat on his back and crawls over him. The lack of control Goro has over this situation is, surprisingly, not as unnerving as he thought it’d be.

“Relax,” Akira murmurs, as he begins to slowly unbutton Goro’s shirt. Goro’s heart pounds just a bit faster. _First barrier down._

Eventually, their shirts are left in a discarded heap on the floor, and Akira uses this as an opportunity to explore everywhere. Goro shudders, drunk on the feeling of skin-on-skin. Nervousness awakens a new kind of excitement with the unpredictability of it all; the lengths of which Akira can go with him, the discoveries they might make yet.

Tenderly, Akira kisses his way down Goro’s chest, leaving a path of sparks in its wake. He feels Akira’s tongue linger on his stomach, before trailing back up and mounting on his right nipple.

Goro gasps quietly. He arches up, shivers underneath Akira’s mouth. Akira’s free hand wanders off, rubbing Goro’s left nipple in slow, delicious circles that threaten a moan from his lips. It’s more than he can handle; he feels like a cord about to snap.

“Sensitive here, huh?” Akira teases, unable to hide his satisfaction. Gently, he scrapes his teeth across the swollen bud, and embers ignite in Goro’s skin. He laps indulgently at the spot before trailing back down to his navel.

God, Goro’s getting hard already. He clutches the sheets, trying and failing to muffle the whimpers in his throat. He feels as though his heart may burst from the varying sensations—Akira’s warm tongue to his insistent fingers and teasing, teasing hips which grind softly against his thigh.

Then Akira raises himself to Goro’s lips, kissing him feverishly. Where Akira’s hands rest at his waist, he now lowers them to tug insistently at the hem of Goro’s pants, taking it upon himself to remove them as quick as possible. Goro follows suit, unbuttoning Akira’s pants and shoving them down his thighs.

As soon as the offending articles have been tossed onto the floor, the two reconnect in another wet kiss. The heat of their arousals, stifled only by the thin barrier of their boxers, continually rub and chafe against each other in the passion of their exchanges, pulling shaky moans from Goro.

With a clumsy hand, Akira reaches down and presses his palm into Goro’s erection, kneading and stroking him as proficiently as he can. Which, to a virgin like Goro, is sadly _very_ proficient.

Goro can’t help the lewd noises that escape him, and they only seem spur Akira on. His ministrations grow rougher, heat stirring in Goro’s belly and flooding his face, pleasure causing his hips to jolt into Akira’s touch. He reaches for Akira’s head and yanks deliriously at black locks.

“ _Mmm_ ,” Akira groans, rutting his hips at the sensation. “God, Goro, you’re so hot.”

The praise goes straight to Goro’s dick. He flushes, throwing his head back when Akira’s hand creeps into his boxers and smears precome against the head, and pushes Akira away so that he can peel _those_ off, too. Watching him hungrily, Akira palms at his own cock, panting heavily.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, as the final, final barrier is stripped from Goro’s skin. Goro purses his lips to prevent the smile bound to encroach on his face.

“You flatter me.” He mutters it, though its not enough to hide his embarrassment. Akira smirks and brushes away a stray hair on Goro’s face.

“I mean it. You’re incredible,” he says. He leans in. Carefully nuzzles Goro’s collarbone. “I’m so lucky to be with you. So, so lucky.”

Goro releases a breathy whimper, curling his fingers once more into Akira’s hair. He feels a light kiss on his neck, and then on his chest, and soon, it becomes unbearable for him to even stomach the adoring touches. He lifts Akira to his face, staring him in the eye.

“Can I…” Akira’s gaze turns curious and Goro looks away. “I—I want to touch you.”  

A moment. And then Akira’s lips spread into a smile, warm and affectionate.

“Of course.”

Biting his lip, Goro releases Akira’s head and lets one hand wander down his chest. He’s well-built, surprising for a teenager, but not for a Phantom Thief. In fact, all he can feel is muscle, muscle, muscle, in Akira’s arms and all over his torso. He admires the subtle ridges of Akira’s stomach, the dip leading down to his boxers. Goro shivers, a little nervous just thinking of what lays beneath there.

“Like what you see?” Akira smirks. It lightens the mood considerably; all of Goro’s anxieties quiet to a simmer, and are mostly replaced by annoyance as well as slight amusement.

“B-Be quiet…” The Joker-esque look on Akira’s face irritates, albeit encourages him, somehow. With no preamble, Goro slides his hand down Akira’s boxers and wraps his fingers around Akira’s cock, which is hard and leaking at the tip.

Akira moans shamelessly. He’s _definitely_ red in the face now, eyes shut and lips parted from pleasure. Goro’s heart palpitates against his ribcage, and he strokes slowly, unsure of how to establish a pace and where, exactly, to be touching. He’s only masturbated a little bit before, and he obviously _hasn’t_ had any sex with anyone, but Akira’s responses to him are uncontrolled and probably signs that he’s doing it right, so he presses on—confidently, without stopping.

“Fuck…” Akira groans, bucking his hips. “Fuck, Goro, you’re so good. Yes, _yes_ …”   

Goro exhales shakily. His cock is dribbling precome against his stomach, aching in its hardness and begging to be touched. Yet he persists in his task and squeezes the base of Akira’s shaft, dragging up, then down, in a steady rhythm.

It does its job. Akira doesn’t care to hide his moans, open and needy like it’s all he could ever want. And Goro iscontent enough to stay here—stroking Akira and watching him writhe, feeling his own hardness grow against his skin. He renews his efforts, twists his grip, thumbing over the slit and spreading a slick of precome. Akira’s back arches in response.

“Mmf— _a_ _h,_ that’s it…” he breathes, digging his fingers into Goro’s thighs. “If you keep going like that, I’ll…”

Eagerly, Goro increases the pace. He hopes to lead him to orgasm, but at the last second Akira catches his wrist and forces him to stop.

“W—Wait.” He smiles, trembling ever-so-slightly. “I want… I want to try something with you, Goro."

Tilting his head to the side, Goro watches as Akira pulls himself away reluctantly and reaches for something inside his desk drawer. Instantly, it clicks in his mind: _lube._ A sweat breaks out on his back and he’s not sure if he should be nervous.

Akira appears to notice, at least. He returns to the bed and brushes Goro’s fringe back fondly. “Relax,” he says. “It will be uncomfortable at first, but it’ll feel nice later. I promise I won’t hurt you, Goro.”

_You should,_ he thinks. _I deserve it. I deserve worse._

But any and all such self-depreciating thoughts vanish at the click of a cap. Akira situates himself between Goro’s legs, smothering his finger in lube, and Goro gulps thickly. As much as his heartbeat thuds against his chest, as much as his throat clogs with doubt and second-guessing, he’s excited to know that somehow—however fucked-up the circumstances may be—someone is willing to explore the most intimate part of him.

And should he be grateful that it’s the boy destined to oppose him? He’s not sure when destiny started feeling like a curse. Goro has made a lot of mistakes in life, but none can ever a hold a candle to befriending Akira Kurusu.

The likes of which now stare longingly into his eyes. Goro clears his throat, hoping his apprehension hasn’t given way to any undesirable expressions.

“Are you ready?” Akira asks, patiently.

Goro licks his lips. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Sparing no moment of hesitation, Akira places one hand on Goro’s thigh and spreads them for easy access, situating his other hand near the perineum. Goro fastens a grip on the blankets, needing to distract himself from the inevitable invasion.

“You okay?” Akira lays a kiss on Goro’s knee, migrating to his inner thigh. Goro shudders, heat blooming in every inch Akira bites and sucks.

“Yes.” He closes his eyes, bashful. “Y-You may… proceed now.”

Quietly, Akira chuckles, likely amused with his choice of words. “Of course, darling.” He nuzzles Goro’s leg, before lowering his index finger and circling the entrance.

Goro squeaks, his breath coming hot and heavy. The feel of something wet against his sensitive hole makes him bite his lip, nearly drawing blood. Delicately, Akira presses in, pushing past the tight opening, and Goro forces himself to ease it through.

_Deep breaths._ His pulse hammers loud in his ears. _Breathe, breathe, breathe._

Akira begins to move his finger slowly, gently probing at Goro’s walls. The discomfort is replaced by faint pleasure, a flurry of new sensations and movements that draw out inaudible mewls from Goro’s throat. He looks at Akira—looks at the dark swirling in his irises, the hunger lurking there. Nodding once, he allows the boy to open him further and enter a second finger.

Goro rolls his hips down abruptly. It’s hard not to cry out in satisfaction when Akira’s fingers start to gradually open him up, scissoring against his tightness and curling at the tip when they’re in deep. He breathes out, wriggles his hips, watches Akira try to change the angle.

And Akira—god, Akira is _breathtaking_. He’s flushed to the tip of his ears, panting out in the thick of his arousal, roving his eyes hotly over Goro’s body. Goro’s cock twitches at the sight of him, and then Akira adds a third finger and he’s gone.

“A—Akira—” he whimpers, breaking out into a full-blown moan when the pads of Akira’s fingers brush up against something tender. It’s like his body melts into pleasant static, bursting into noise when the pressure on that spot grows and grows, and Goro bucks his hips, arching his back off of the sheets. Akira watches him with barefaced desire. Almost automatically, he thrusts his fingers in that same angle, tongue darting out to wet his lips.  

“You’re doing so well, Goro,” he praises, voice distant. “Such a good boy… God…”

“Akira,” Goro whines, his face heating up at the words. “Please… more…”

Akira is fain to comply. He begins to thrust in earnest, twisting his fingers and brushing them against his prostate. Goro moans loudly; the feeling is too much, bleeding into his conscience and robbing him of conscious thought. However, as tension builds up in Goro’s gut, Akira removes his fingers abruptly and Goro yelps at the loss.

“Wh-Wha… ?” He blinks, dazed and feeling so, so empty. “Akira, why…”

“Shh.” Pressing his lips to Goro’s, Akira kisses him softly like that for a second before parting and retrieving an item off the side of the bed. As he tears the wrapper open, he procures a condom from inside and rolls it over his cock, Goro's own stirring at the sight.

The lube is still at the foot of the bed, so Goro sits up and reaches for it while Akira is distracted, inching nearer.

“Goro?”

“Here,” he mumbles, pouring a good bit of lube into his palm before slathering it over Akira’s dick. Akira hums, caressing Goro’s locks and stealing a warm kiss from him.

“Mm, that’s good…” With a mischievous smile, Akira lightly pushes Goro down and hovers over him. His hands pin Goro to the sheets; Akira’s eyes sparkle in the light of the attic. A flush runs over Goro’s cheeks, unbidden.

“… Akira…” He cuts himself off, unable to maintain eye contact with him for much longer. However, a hand skates over his jaw, landing on his chin and turning it forward. Akira gazes at him with startling tenderness. Goro could just cry.

“Hey,” Akira says, softly. There’s a smile on his lips that makes Goro numb, a persistent ache in his chest that feels like he’s bleeding. But the hurt is secondary to the way his heart floats in ecstasy and gratification—an emotion that screams at the top of its lungs, _I’m alive. I’m free._

Which is weird, given Akira has him caged on all sides.

Lovingly, Akira nips up his neck, biting his earlobe and rolling it between his teeth. Goro shivers, bucks his hips up greedily.

With a long kiss to Goro’s temples, Akira places his hands on Goro’s calves and lifts them over his shoulders. He shifts forward, the tip pressing against Goro’s entrance, and Goro’s heart beats out of his chest, threatening to burst entirely. But Akira rubs his nose against Goro’s hair and inhales, and Goro is suddenly soothed, his own breaths shallowing in relative calm.

_Breathe._

_You’re alive._

_You’re free._

When Akira pushes in slowly, a harsh cry is ripped from Goro’s throat. The sudden invasion is a whole new sensation; pain mixed with pleasure. The head slides in fairly easily, followed by the shaft and a low groan from Akira’s lips. The moment he is fully sheathed in Goro’s ass, he sits there and presses kisses to Goro’s temple, silencing the pathetic whimpers that escape Goro’s mouth.

Goro feels tight and impossibly full, as if he could come apart just on Akira’s cock. The feeling is intensified as Akira starts to move, sliding slowly in and out.

“Ahh—” Goro keens and lifts his hips slightly. Purring his satisfaction, Akira meets this with a shallow thrust, careful not to push too hard despite his clear desire to.

He’s so _big._ It’s weird and a little uncomfortable, admittedly. But knowing that Akira is inside of him—feeling him breach his depths, attain a proximity that Goro has never maintained with anyone—just that knowledge is enough to send him over the edge.

“Goro,” Akira murmurs, low, into his ear. “ _Fuck,_ you’re so tight…”

Goro whines under his breath. As Akira buries his cock deeper inside of him, the pain evaporates into an indistinct ache, heat flooding his stomach and coiling there, molten and pleasant and so right. Each thrust is punctuated by a throaty moan, each second filled with ragged breathing.

Goro presses his heels into Akira’s back and pulls him closer. “More…” he whispers, almost a beg. “Haah, Akira—”

“Shit,” Akira curses, increasing his pace. “I love it when you moan, Goro. You’re so beautiful. So fucking hot. I want you to keep making those noises for me—”

He rolls his hips in one particularly deep thrust, and Goro cries out, overloaded with pleasure. The tip of his cock just barely brushes Goro’s prostate, far enough for it to be teasing. Goro rolls his hips down forcefully, desperately.

“Please, please, please—”

Akira huffs. “Please what?”

“Please, I…” Goro bites down, hard, on his lip. “I need it, I need you—”

Akira growls into his ear, snapping his hips forward. It hits that spot again; Goro screams, raking his nails down Akira’s back.

“Ah… ah… m-more…”

“Fuck, Goro—”

They continue like that, Akira pounding into Goro with harsh and unrelenting thrusts. Goro can’t hold it in, the breathy cries and whimpers that tumble out in a staccato rhythm. Akira’s presses their chests flush together. Digs deeper into Goro with a sweet moan. His breath is hot and heavy in Goro’s ear, murmuring praises in a voice that's sultry, like melted chocolate.

A few more thrusts, and Goro’s belly goes tight with a surge of pleasure. He throws his head back, finds Akira’s black curls and yanks desperately at it.

“Akira, _god,_ please—”

“Tell me what you need,” Akira rasps, thrusting once, moaning shakily.

“I— _ah,_ ” he gasps, bucking his hips. “Please, touch me, anything—”

Akira grips Goro’s erection and pumps him roughly. Goro sobs, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and he’s close, so, _so,_ close—

“I-I’m gonna…”

“Come for me, Goro.”

The cord in his gut snaps, and heat unravels in Goro’s groin, come spurting out heavily into Akira’s hand.

He shudders, sinks into the sheets with a blissed-out sigh. Akira is still moving inside of him, overwhelming his nerves into the point of numbness, and then Akira thrusts forward brokenly, his mouth opening in a silent moan as he comes.

He falls forward, resting his forehead against Goro’s chest. They lay there in silence for a couple of beats. Akira pulls out, Goro gasping at the sensation of emptiness that follows, and Akira drags himself off to get rid of the condom, leaving the bed to Goro.

And then—the full weight of what Goro had just done bears down on him suddenly.

_You just slept with Akira._

_The boy you were fated to destroy._

It’s as good a mood-killer as any. Without warning, tears start to gather at the corner of his eyes. So that's it, then.

Another mistake. Another delusion. Another attempt to chase that which he cannot have by default.

He’s going to lose Akira, the only person who could ever understand what a sorry life Goro was forced to live, and this time, it’s going to _hurt._ There’s no penitence for such a blunder—no way to turn back time, to make up for what he had done.

For what he’s about to do.

For now, he lays quietly in Akira’s bed, feels Akira’s warmth return to his side. It’s no longer comforting, more like a wildfire spreading, and the way his heart pounds does not make him giddy with joy. He feels trapped. Anxious.

Akira leans down, kisses Goro's forehead. Goro freezes up. 

"Are you okay?" Akira coos, idly brushing his hair.

To this, Goro hesitates. He knows, after all, that he is bound for certain tragedy—a choice that will end with one of them dying. But Goro can waste another second feeling alive, for one moment. Before it all comes crashing down. Before he’s forced to face the sins he has committed.

Before he’ll have to lose again.

"Yes," Goro whispers, clasping Akira's hand. "Stay with me."

Akira smiles affectionately. He burrows underneath the blanket, pressing up against Goro's back. “Good?” Akira hums, wrapping his arms around Goro’s waist.

Goro breathes. Sucks in his tears. “Never better.”  

What a goddamn lie.

**Author's Note:**

> me, forgetting akira wears glasses for a majority of the fic: oh, FUCK


End file.
